


all the tender strength in your body.

by vasnormandy



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Rebels, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Other, clone wars killed me friends i am dead and gone, these two and their fucking father daughter dynamic have absolutely wrecked me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-24 11:50:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6152767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vasnormandy/pseuds/vasnormandy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>seven times in the arms of the man who was almost your father; seven times with your arms around the daughter you almost got to keep. || snapshots of anakin and ahsoka's relationship over time, told through embraces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i spent the first three seasons of clone wars mad at anakin for not hugging ahsoka. this is the product of that.

i leave someone  
who would adhere to me: i undo her fingers like bandages: i go.

                                  -[sylvia plath, _three women_](http://www.angelfire.com/tn/plath/3women.html)

 

_\---_

 

**1.**

ahsoka tano has been his padawan for a mere five weeks. she has almost gotten herself killed on a grand total of seventeen occasions thus far, and almost gotten him killed along with her on nine of those. obi-wan tells him to try to remember what he was like at her age, as he cannot hope to forget, and insists that ahsoka is not setting a record. anakin's not sure he believes him.

still, infuriatingly reckless as she may be, he likes the kid. he is sick and tired of the extended reports to the council that her behavior occasionally necessitates - he is at his wit's end trying to teach her, unable to tell if anything he says is getting through to her - the "skyguy" nickname she insists on gets on his nerves - but he likes the kid.

it helps that, in some regards, she practically teaches herself. true, she lacks discipline; she is inexperienced, she has little self-control, her adherence to the code is conditional at best. but in practical ability, in all those hard skills which a trainer ought impart, she excels - he cannot for the life of him get her to let go of that damned reverse grip, but she makes it work for her, and though she needs more practice in consciously bending the force to her will, her agility and reflexes consistently impress him.

"did you see that?" she calls to him now, excitedly, having leapt gracefully over a battle droid, somersaulted twice through the air, and twisted to slice the droid in two before landing with two feet and one hand on the ground. he did.

"behind you!" he shouts in response, and she wheels around - immediately brings her saber up to deflect incoming fire as she charges the few that have come up at her back, takes them out two by two once they are in arm's reach. an unnecessary risk; she could have destroyed them from afar. he makes a mental note to talk to her about angling deflected fire back at its origin.

the battle pushes them back to back, doing their best to guard each other and what remains of the squad of clone soldiers accompanying them. it proves difficult to act as a first line of defense when there is no clear line to hold: the enemy is coming at them from two, three directions.

seeming to echo his thoughts, ahsoka shouts to him - loud to be heard over the gunfire, he's sure, but perhaps a little louder than is necessary, as she is right beside him. "master windu said we shouldn't encounter much resistance!"

"clearly, master windu was mistaken," he shoots back, a touch of irritation twisting his tone. going in with bad intel is worse than going in blind.

two large spider droids are advancing behind the line of battle droids; he turns to ahsoka to make sure she has seen just in time to watch something flash across her face. he already knows that look: she has an idea, and he is going to have a very long report to write.

"rex!" she shouts, breaking away from him to run towards their squad. the clone commander hears, looks up to see her pointing to his bag. it is full to bursting with charges, which they were meant to use to blow their way into a target this advancing army has prevented them from reaching. he catches her meaning immediately; he breaks off his fire to pull out one small bomb and rolls it across the ground. she snatches it up, arms it as she turns and dashes back, past anakin and towards the droids. he sees the oncoming series of events before they begin to play out - she is too close, she is not thinking about how explosions work - and as she hurls the grenade towards the spider droids he is already in motion.

he shouts her name, enough to stop her, turn her back towards him, and as her bomb detonates - just between the spider droids, right where she aimed it, disabling both - he seizes her. with one arm he pulls her, small and skinny-limbed and too stunned in the moment to protest, to his chest and holds her there, puts his body between his apprentice and danger; with the other arm he reaches out, fingers spread, to the debris now hurtling towards them. he focuses, calls on the force, and with ahsoka shielded he deflects the jagged bits of battle droid away from them both.

as soon as the last piece of shrapnel has hit the ground, he lets her go. she steps back, demands, "what was that?"

"things tend to go flying in every direction when you blow them up," he responds, tries to sound strict about it. "you could've been killed."

"i would've been fine," she refutes stubbornly - then, looking past him, she opens her lightsaber again, flips it backwards in her hand. he glances over his shoulder, and then turns to draw his own saber. her tactics have not ended the assault.

"we're having a talk about safe use of explosives when we're done with this," he calls to her as he moves into a defensive position again.

"uh-huh," she responds, twirling her lightsaber, and he is not sure that she actually heard him.

 

\---

 

**2.**

anakin's first assignment on his own was not dangerous. it was long days passed slowly in the beauty and cool springtime of naboo, languid hours wasted with padme at his side. he remembers being in anguish at the time, but now - married, happy - he looks back on those memories with a certain fondness. it deteriorated, of course. the moment they left naboo he began to play in a series of events that led him through the death of his mother, the loss of his hand, the end of peace - but the assignment on its own was not a difficult one.

ahsoka's first assignment, by contrast, has ended in disaster.

the state she has fallen into is so unlike the girl he knows, and it's disconcerting. he's used to her infinite energy, her joyous bravado and overconfidence; she is not so sure anymore. idly, he notes a fundamental distinction between the two of them - that he was trained in peacetime, and her in wartime - and he wonders how much of a difference that makes. certainly a considerable one. she is five years younger than he was when he was dispatched to protect padme, and already she is trusted to command soldiers - by necessity, by the demands of the war - and by her own capability, to give her due credit, but she is still a child. none of this will be easy for her.

he'd hoped she'd find some sense of redemption in her second chance, and though she is not quite as despondent, it has been two days and she is by no definition cheered. the council wants to debrief her on the events of her command, and he worries for how this will affect her; he has resolved to sit down with her before she has to go before them, but has spent the past days trying to think of how to best approach her, and he is running out of time.

he catches her as she mopes out of the mess hall after breakfast, reaching out to loosely grasp her wrist, just enough to stop her. "ahsoka," he says - calm and soft, not commanding.

she looks up at him - offers a weak smile, just an acknowledgment, makes no attempt to free herself. "hey, master."

"come on." he gestures down the hall with a tilt of his head. "i want to talk to you."

she only shrugs. he lets go of her wrist and starts down the hall, with his padawan trailing noncommittally behind him. republic starships, he knows, have a room that has been put to the purpose of reflection for jedi on staff - for any who choose to practice battle meditation, or who simply need a quieter space to refine their focus. he is unsure if this was the room's intended purpose when the ship was designed, but he has noted the presence of similar chambers on most of the larger ships. this is where he leads her. "sit," he says, and gestures, and she does.

he stands against the wall opposite her. "you want to talk?"

she's quiet for a moment, and then shrugs. "we already talked, master."

"it's still bothering you."

"i'm fine."

"ahsoka." his apprentice sighs, breaks eye contact, and he presses on. "ahsoka, their deaths aren't on you."

"how can you say that?" she questions softly. "if i'd just followed orders -"

"you chose to trust your own judgment," he counters. "sometimes that's better than any orders. you just have to learn how to make that call. and you will."

"but i -" she swallows. "i really thought we could break through. to clear the way for master obi-wan."

"i know you did, snips." he offers a small smile, in the hopes that she will find some reassurance in it.

she keeps her eyes on the floor, shakes her head. "what if i never learn how to draw that line?"

"you will," he repeats - more emphatically, a promise. "you've got a good head on your shoulders, little one. i trust your judgment. i need to know that you can, too."

"how can i?" she exclaims, rising to her feet. "all those clones -"

"knew what their duty was," he finishes. "every commander makes mistakes. and every soldier knows it. you'll get better at this, ahsoka. i promise."

she releases a breath in a soft huff, stands with muscles tight and shoulders raised and arms coiled around her midriff; she is still avoiding his eyes. after a moment's pause, he sighs, pushes off the wall. "come here, snips."

she looks up now, still raw and wrecked but curious, and he gestures for her with a sweep of his arm. "come here," he says again, and she seems to catch his meaning now - she coils her arms tighter around herself, keeps her eyes directed downward, but approaches him slowly; she walks straight to him and he wraps his arms around her, folds her close to him. his hold on her is only loose, so if she were to decide she is not comfortable with this she could escape in a moment, but he hopes there is stability and assurance in it all the same.

 

\---

 

**3.**

the second battle for geonosis is no more enjoyable than the first. every minute he spends there among the sand - which by itself would be enough to make the whole experience miserable - he is reminded of the factory, the slaughter in the coliseum, dooku, and the arm he no longer has begins to ache. he is reminded of padme, the scream that ripped from her throat when that beast raked its claws across her back (she still has the scars, skin healed but twisted in parallel lines, and he traces them some evenings as they lie in bed, makes out of them gentle mementos of the good that came out of that day). he is reminded of her fall, the panic that rose in him as he watched her tumble, limp, down the dunes - helpless, so afraid to lose her, too.

this is the way of geonosis. that is what he thought, when ahsoka made contact, said she wouldn't be able to make it out in time. this is what happens on geonosis, and he should have known - and maybe he did. maybe that's why he didn't want her to go.

there was relief upon finding her, yes, but it was gambler's relief, soured by anxiety. how many times will this planet come within a hair's width of taking someone from him, only to send them back to him; how many times will he brave geonosis before it burns him?

he recommended her for the supply run to get her out of the way, away from the treacherous sands of this planet that seems to despise him, but the worry that he had played the odds of geonosis one too many times remained - and grew, a tightness in his chest tighter and tighter every second she was out of contact. he should not have sent her away without him. geonosis followed her.

she is alright now, and he is digesting the fear that would not loosen its grip on him until she opened her eyes.

the medical droids have instructed her to stay off her feet in the ward for three days. for the first, he put the weight of what authority he has over her behind that order, out of concern for her - but ahsoka is ahsoka, and she is staggering around her hospital room before breakfast on the second day. anakin has taken up residence in a chair in the corner. he intends to stay here until she can leave with him or until he is ordered to rejoin the war in absolutely no uncertain terms at least three times.

ahsoka has regained enough strength to master walking while supporting herself with a hand against the wall. pushed on by her success, a confident grin overtaking the focus on her face, she moves away - and topples forward two steps in.

he is out of his chair in half a second, moving to intercept her. he catches her with his hands on her shoulders before she hits the ground, supports her as she regains her footing. "whoa, there," he says, affection overwhelming the teasing amusement he had meant to speak with. "don't push yourself, little one."

"sorry, master," she mumbles.

"it's alright." he smiles. "you want to try again?"

she nods, and he lets go of her, moves back to give her space. for a moment she wobbles in place - sets her feet a little wider to help with her balance - and, slower this time, more cautious, she tries again to walk unsupported. he follows her, beside her - she makes it farther this time, nearly all the way across the room to barriss's bed, where the other padawan still sleeps. but one misstep and her knees buckle, and she again starts to fall, and he again rushes forward to catch her. but this time, instead of holding her at arm's length as she steadies herself, he pulls her in to his chest, envelops her in a tight embrace. after a moment's hesitation, she tucks her head under his chin, wraps gangly arms around his midriff.

"hey, snips?" he begins.

"yeah?"

"in the future, try not to get blown up and frozen on the same day."

she laughs. "i'll keep that in mind, master."

 

\---

 

**4.**

ahsoka hates the time they spend on coruscant. he never thought he'd meet anyone who could match him for pure agony and boredom experienced when ensnared in the grip of politicians, but his padawan measures up to him and more. perhaps he's lost his touch, after years married to padme. that must be it.

he has seen this girl keep up her energy through missions that threw one thing after another at the two of them, non-stop, for hours and hours. he has seen her remain awake and vigilant for several days on end, on one particularly hairy occasion. she is always the first one awake between the two of them, fully alert and ready to move from the moment her eyes open. so long as she's uninjured, there seems to be absolutely no putting a stop to her boundless verve, her infinite liveliness. but one day filled with nothing but coruscant politics has reduced her to the barely fifteen-year-old child he so often forgets she is. she slouches, drags her feet as she forces herself forward at his side, the tone of her voice shifted a note by displeasure - _master, please, it's late, can we be done - please, master, i don't want to talk to any more senators, i want to go to sleep._ he is too amused - and, as it happens, in complete agreement - to chide her on her childishness.

three senators, two visits to the chancellor's offices, one disgruntled trade federation representative, and a droning speech from the jedi council - it has been quite the day. he's tired as well, and desperately in need of a reminder as to why he does not, in fact, hate the time they spend on coruscant. not one bit.

that reminder comes, as it only can, in the form of padme, sweeping across the hallway in senator's garb, as beautiful as he has ever seen her. it was her legislation that stirred up the mess leading to the day's events - and while ahsoka has not stopped complaining for nearly two hours, he is nothing but grateful for the opportunity to see her. well - for the most part, he is nothing but grateful.

"senator," he greets, with all the formality required of him.

"general skywalker," she returns. there is no trace of affection in his wife's voice, in her face - she is better at this than he is - but her eyes lock with his for a moment, and she is there.

they are outside of padme's apartments, their apartments, and she opens the door. "please, come in. sit down. there is much to - ahsoka?"

there is a muffled noise in response, and anakin turns - and laughs. his padawan has collapsed face-first onto a small cushioned bench against the wall.

"excuse me," he says to padme, and goes to ahsoka. "what," he inquires, "are you tired?"

the noise offered in reply is emphatic, and vaguely resembles a yes.

"why didn't you say so?"

an unmistakable groan.

he fakes an exasperated sigh. "alright, snips. come on."

she turns onto her back, manages to sit up; he crouches in front of her, lets her hook her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, and holding her there, he stands up.

"pardon me, senator," he says, nodding his head to her, his voice a little strained as he adjusts to the new weight. "got to get this one to bed."

"of course," padme agrees, a small smile dawning on what was once a stoic expression - with ahsoka's eyes elsewhere, warmth has returned to her face. "we can speak when you return."

"count on it." he turns, shifts his hold on ahsoka, begins down the hallway; she buries her face in his shoulder as he hefts her upwards to better place her weight, and he makes an exaggerated noise of effort, to tease her. "wow, snips. what've you been eating, rocks?"

she mumbles what he is sure would have been a biting retort were it not lost to the fabric of his shirt.

he returns his padawan to her room, stays long enough to ensure she makes it to her bed instead of collapsing onto the carpet. he's experienced ahsoka in the mornings after sleeping on the ground, and she always complains about what it does to her back - it provides a golden opportunity for him to poke fun, but they don't know what tomorrow could bring, and he would rather she be in peak condition. once she is safely tucked in, he leaves, shuts the door and returns the way he came - towards padme, towards privacy and his wife.

they do speak - but not on the day's events, not on politics, that can wait. the seconds they have alone together are precious few.

 _you'd be a good father_ , she murmurs to him as they lie in bed in the darkened apartments - already half unconscious, her body curled into his - and he does not get the words, her sleep-blurred voice, out of his head for weeks.

 

\---

 

**5.**

she is so worried about him.

he hasn't spoken to her since the funeral. he hasn't spoken at all, from what she's seen - though she hasn't seen much of him. he seems to have pulled inward on himself, burrowing down deep inside his chest, inside his rage. she's seen him go to this kind of dark place before - it always worries her - but never like this, never anything close to this.

padme is with her in this. she hasn't said anything, but ahsoka can tell, can feel it radiating from her. she had followed him out after the funeral, trailing behind and calling his name after him, tear streaks on her face, she is grieving too - she'd caught up with him, put herself in front of him, put her hands on his chest and said something softly up to him, her brows furrowed and her face desperate in concern. ahsoka could not hear - they were too far from her by then, but she could see his face, and the way not an inch of anger dissipated from it, and she could see him push her aside. it was not gentle. padme stumbled.

she did not follow him, but stood and wept until that duchess from mandalore, satine - her eyes red from crying as well - approached, set a hand on her shoulder. ahsoka watched them go, thought of padme and her hands on anakin's chest and the impassioned care on her face, of satine and the way she sobbed over the coffin - of barriss, a soft brush against her cheek - and wondered how many jedi truly succeed in avoiding attachments.

that was yesterday.

in the wake of this, the council has benched him, and by extension her. she does not mind the gifted time to process the loss of obi-wan, but when she tried to meditate she found herself preoccupied, unable to see her own mourning past anakin's. she wandered the halls for a while, searched for something to do - without a mission, without a master, with barriss far away in the heart of the war with luminara, she felt aimless. master yoda, ever perceptive, found her eventually, offered to let her assist with the younglings' lightsaber training. working with the children usually cheers her, calms her, but though it keeps her occupied for a short while it does not set her mind at ease today.

her mind will not be at ease, she thinks, until she speaks with anakin.

he is not in his chambers; he is not in any of the training rooms she has known him to frequent during their visits to the temple. he is not meditating. padme has not seen him. were they not so strongly bonded through the force she doubts she ever would have found him. she reaches out with her mind, tentative fingers searching, and she finds - he pushes her away when he senses her intrusion, but she gets an impression of him and she follows it.

he has found his way to the roof, climbed high on one of the temple's outer walls. she swings out of the closest window she can find and scales the rest of the way to him with no great difficulty. his back is to her, he is standing just at the edge, his toes hanging out over open, empty air. there is a heavy breeze up here that stirs his hair, his sleeves.

"master?" she calls - to announce herself, though she's sure he knows she's there.

he does not respond, so she goes to him, steps up onto the ledge beside him. the ground is far, far below them, and his eyes are fixed on it, his head hung downward. there is a consideration in his face.

"hey, master," she says, hesitantly touches his arm. "come on. let's sit down." and she does, lowers herself to take a seat on the rooftop with her legs hanging over the edge, moves down his arm to encircle his wrist with her hand as she does. she tugs only lightly - and it takes him a moment, but he does relent, does slowly descend to sit beside her.

there is a long silence. he is still looking down. she turns her eyes outward over the coruscant skyline and quietly pleads, "talk to me."

"about what?" it's aggressive, almost an accusation.

"you know what."

"there's nothing to talk about." he is spitting out his words. now that she has brought him out of the quiet, he is all sputtering rage, his face beginning to contort.

"mas-" she stops herself. she is not here as his padawan, but as his friend. the order would have him sit and meditate until he can convince himself that he does not hurt. she is not having this conversation within the constraints of the order. "anakin. i know what he meant to you. i understand."

"he was like my father." he still speaks in anger, his brows lowered. "how could you understand?"

that is a barb, that hurts - and she hears herself say, louder and sharper than she has been, "how do you think i'd feel if you died?"

she sees him soften before he ducks his head further, turns his face away from her.

after a long moment, she says, "padme is worried about you."

"she shouldn't be."

"i'm worried about you."

"snips -"

"don't tell me not to be." she draws a breath, shakes her head. "just - talk to me. please. i want to help."

for a long time he does not speak. he moves his hands from the ledge to his lap, leans forward on his forearms, clenches his fingers into fists that catch the fabric of his robes. "i should've known," he mumbles, finally. "this always happens. i couldn't - i can't save _anyone_."

she shakes her head. "anakin, don't blame yourself."

"i should've done something differently," he insists, his voice beginning to wobble as it rises. "i should've - but he's dead. i failed him. i could've -"

"what?" she demands. "what could you have -"

"i could've!" his breathing is heavier, has begun to hitch. "i have to be able to - what if something happens to you? or padme? i _have_ to - i can't keep watching people die."

tears have begun to pool in his eyes, have not yet spilled over - and she slides closer to him on the ledge and reaches out to put her arms around him. he leans heavily into her, lets his head hang, and she hears a soft, half-suppressed sob against her shoulder. she does not know what to say, so she doesn't speak. instead she only closes her eyes to keep in her own tears, rubs a hand gently up and down his back, grips the ledge with her legs to keep herself anchored as he lets his weight sag against her.

"i don't want to go inside yet," he breathes after a long time, and he sounds so young. she thinks of him as a father; it is too easy for her to forget he is just six years her senior, barely twenty-three.

"we don't have to," she replies, grips him tighter. "we can stay out here as long as you need to."

they do.

 

\---

 

**6.**

she returns to the temple in the quiet of the evening - buries herself in her cloak, makes a disguise of the winding-down coming and goings of jedi and clones and workers and politicians. she is decent enough at going unnoticed, always has been, and she has not yet lost the knowledge of how to look like she belongs here.

neither has she lost the feeling that she does belong here. it is bitter now, tinged with betrayal and uncertainty and doubt, but it lingers still. she hopes it will fade in time.

she is not going to stay here long. she only needs to return to her chambers, gather her few belongings - she has already retrieved her lightsabers, pinned them to her belt under her cloak, but she will not get far with nothing but jedi weapons and the clothes on her back. she needs a change of clothes, the blaster she keeps hidden in the top of her closet, the small stash of credits under her mattress. she owns so little, and still so much more than the order allows, so much secret; she owns so little, but what she does have it would be unwise to venture off without. she has not left the jedi order to starve on a street in the slums of coruscant.

she walks slowly, silently, calls no attention to herself; she keeps a lookout for anakin, for obi-wan, for master plo koon or anyone who might know her as she passed even without seeing her face. but she is lucky today - none of them cross her path. as she passes the library she has to turn to hide her face when two of her younglings approach - katooni and ganodi, chatting contentedly - but that is the closest she comes to recognition. they do not notice her.

once the two have passed her by she turns back to them, watches them go. she has to stop thinking of that class of children she escorted to the caves as _hers_. she has no claim to any one of them; now, she never will. she feels a stab of something, her throat tightens - she had hoped to train one of them someday, when they were deemed ready to become padawans and she was deemed ready to have one. she had so looked forward to being a teacher, a mentor - to having someone to whom she could pass on everything that has been passed on to her.

all of that is gone now. that future, that dream. she has turned her back on that as well. katooni and ganodi turn a corner, and ahsoka draws a breath and returns to her task.

her room was just next door to barriss's - a fact the two delighted in when their time at the temple overlapped. they visited with each other so often. kept each other's confidence. it seems a lifetime ago now. it has been barely a day, but already someone has taken both of their names down from their doors. she lifts a hand, hovers her fingers above the blank expanse where _barriss offee_ once was written - and then she pulls her hand back. she is here for a reason.

they have taken their names down, but they have not changed the passcodes. her door still opens for her. it is dark in her chambers, the blinds are closed - she reaches for the lights, but before she can switch them on a voice calls from the black.

"ahsoka?"

oh, no.

she turns on the light. anakin is sitting on the edge of her bed - hunched over, his eyes lifted to her. as soon as he can see her clearly he rises to his feet, his eyes wide, his face lit by new hope.

"you came back," he says. "you changed your mind - i knew -"

"no," she interrupts, before he can get any further. "no, mas- anakin. i - i'm sorry. i haven't." his face falls, and she feels a twinge of remorse, but presses on. "i just came for my things."

"oh." he looks down, and she follows his eyes down to his hand - he has curled his fingers tight around a string of beads. her padawan braid. he clenches his fist tighter around the strand, skin stretching over knuckles. he is in enough pain to reach for anger instead, and the recognition of that sends a rippling anguish through her.

she bites her lip, ducks her head. she is hurting him, by leaving - she occupies a space in him, she knows, and she would leave it empty. the thought floods her with guilt. she loves him; he is the closest thing to family she knows. she loves anakin, she loves obi-wan - she loves padme, her sister, her friend. she loves barriss, whose betrayal is a constant pain, a twisting of her heart that will not subside. she loves, she loves, she loves - she looks away.

"you won't reconsider?" he asks. his voice is quiet, straining to remain so. she shakes her head.

"i just need my things," she reiterates. she sees him grit his teeth, but continues to avoid her eyes. silently, tensely, he extends his hand to her - offering her, again, the beads. she shakes her head more emphatically now. "anakin, i - don't want it."

"ahsoka -" he starts, and now his voice is beginning to rise.

"i can't." she pushes his hand away. "you - you keep it for me. please."

"you can't _do_ this." he is not truly angry with her, she knows that, he is hurting, he lashes out. she has not provoked rage, but misery. does she flinch away in spite of that knowledge or because of it?

"it's already done," she whispers.

something seems to snap around in him when she recoils. he halts where he is - hesitates a moment and then gives a terse but solemn nod, tucks the string of beads away in his pocket. she has never seen him look so utterly defeated.

"anakin," she says, and when he lifts his eyes to look at her she steps forward and wraps her arms around his neck. after a moment his go around her waist - his hold is loose at first but soon tightens, and he clings to her, lowers his head to touch her shoulder.

"i'll see you around sometime," she promises. "i just - need to figure some things out."

a long quiet. then: "i know."

she hesitates - there are things she wants to say, things she wonders if she should. _i love you - you are so much more than a teacher, you are a father. i'll come back someday. don't tell anyone i was here. have they executed barriss?_ after some silence, she holds herself back, resigns herself to, "do one thing for me?"

"anything."

"the kids," she says. "the younglings that i brought to the crystal caves. you know the ones?"

"what about them?"

"look after them for me." she feels some amount of responsibility neglected, leaving them here, walking away. she would feel better knowing anakin was keeping half an eye on them. "they're almost ready to graduate. maybe the council will even give one of them to you, to train."

"i don't want another padawan."

"you didn't want me, either." her tone is almost, almost teasing. "remember?"

"ahsoka -"

"you'll be alright." she takes a long breath. "and i'll be alright." she pulls away from him, looks up to hold his gaze. "okay?" he only nods.

there is something so final in the way her heart sinks as she steps away from him - she is already lonely. "thank you," she tells him, before she turns away, and she does not say for what, because there is no way she could condense it all into words.

she goes to her closet, begins taking down her clothes. when she looks back over her shoulder, she is alone.

 

\---

 

**7.**

she may not be a jedi, but she still fights like one.

his ahsoka had always been leagues ahead of her peers, in skill and in mind - no chosen one, but the mastery of the force she showed from the day he met her was far beyond the control he'd possessed at her age. she was overconfident and brash, a product of her youth, but her recklessness at fourteen was equal to his at twenty. and there was always a wisdom to her as well, a serenity, a deadly focus she poured into her every ability. her skill with a saber had impressed him from the start; she has perfected the art of fighting with two, equally capable with each hand, both held in the backwards grip he tried to train her out of. he wonders if she is doing it deliberately now, to spite him.

she knows who he is. she has not said a word, but he is sure of it; he can feel the anger thrumming through her as she attacks, can see it as it contorts the features of her face. so different seen through red lenses. so much older than she is when he remembers her. how has she been?

but the anger is only a thin surface; beneath it is pain, betrayal, the anguish of recognition. every strike of her weapons rings - _how could you, how could you, how could you?_

once he would have had an answer for her. now he is empty of most everything.

it has been years since he saw her style. he recognizes elements of it - as aggressive as ever, more so. her emotion fuels it. but that clarity of focus has not gone from her eyes - she is in agony, and she draws strength from this, but she will not let it blind her. is this what she has been free to practice and perfect - what she has taught herself, liberated from the teachings of both the jedi and the sith?

she feints, and he realizes a second too late, and then her foot comes up and she kicks him back. he stumbles, hits a column.

"we don't have to do this!" the first thing she's said to him, and it is a cry that tears itself from her lips - all desperation. "i don't want to do this."

"it is much too late now." this is not the voice she knows. there are tears brimming in her eyes.

"no." ahsoka shakes her head. "no, anakin, you can - you can walk away from this. i know you, this isn't you."

they understand walking away, don't they - he and she. but he has done too much, reached too far without grasping; he is too tied to the dark side, to the empire, to the emperor. she is not wrong. she knew a man named anakin. this is not him. he is not him.

he surges forward, and she is unprepared, having chosen to disarm herself by her own pain rather than continue to grow stronger on it. she blocks, parries, counterattacks; she is strong, agile, quick, but her resolve is not what his is, and he is pushing her back too easily. they move until her back is against a wall, and all she can do is defend. he trained her too well, he thinks, and she has grown so much on her own. but the anger is gone from her face, and that is her weakness - she does not want to hurt him.

he strengthens his offensive, leaves his defense lacking. a gamble, but he knows his padawan. he allows gaps, waits for the change in her face when she realizes - and she does. she sees her moment: a chance to win, to kill him, should she take it. a golden opportunity.

and she falters.

in that moment of hesitation, he strikes. with a single swift motion, he knocks one of her sabers from her hand, and the other is not quick enough to block the blow he aims straight for her center. he pushes the blade through her stomach, angled upwards, and does not look her in the eyes.

her second saber falls from her hand, clatters on the ground, and he knows she is beaten; he is close to her now, and he closes his lightsaber, and - slowly, delicately, leaving a smear of blood across the wall - lowers her to the floor. her breaths are slow and ragged, sputtering as though she is choking. her blood may have already found its way into her lungs. he is kneeling beside her, his hand beneath her head, supporting it. a long time ago, another man would have called her daughter, child beloved as the one he never met - would have died, in a heartbeat, to save her. the same hands that held her then hold her now.

he feels a sharp stab of something, and he swallows it. he will not be weakened.

she is tentative as she lifts a hand, reaching to touch the mask's smooth surface, as though she thinks gentle touch will pass right through to the cheek beneath. her fingers tremble with the effort of moving.

"master?" ahsoka breaths, in a broken, quiet voice muddled by blood. her eyes are filled with tears, with sorrow, and then with nothing at all.

he lets go of her, stands, and her head rolls to the side, and she lies still. vader collects her lightsabers and leaves her body to be found by someone who cared for her.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**epilogue.**

all is white after his son's face fades.

there is warmth here, without the true sensation of temperature; there is a soft humming, without true sound. he looks around and finds he does not have to turn his head - does he have a head to turn? a body at all? he is aware of nothing at all - and yet, so much. the bright expanse seems to fluctuate around him, waves like reflections on a rippling pool. somewhere beyond it, something is moving.

is this the force? he feels so safe.

he catches sight of motion to his left, something more definite than the vague shifting of his surroundings - and yes, he has a left, he has eyes to turn to follow the shape. he has legs to move him towards it, and hands, and they are not gloved. he thinks he can feel warm air on his face, the gentle breeze of summer on naboo.

whatever is moving moves again, and it is as though his vision is clearing - the bright, safe nothing like a fog he is blinking away. it is a figure, a person, tall. the shadow of a robe sweeps behind them. he calls obi-wan's name.

enough of a sense of actual space has returned for him to move forward, one foot after the other, and he nearly falls - he is so unused to the lack of his suit's weight slowing his movement. he is so light. in the absence of any discernible floor, he elects not to think too much about what he is walking on.

he is growing closer to the figure. they have stopped; he thinks they are looking at him. in the silence, he dares to call for padme.

she begins to move towards him - it is a woman, he's sure - not slim enough, too tall, but could it be - and then, finally, real sound.

"not quite, skyguy."

the familiarity of the teasing tone had been nearly lost to the years, he realizes, but now it surges back to him: years of witty retorts under fire, playful punches and forgivable insubordination, all in a moment, and it all but stops his heart.

the fog has cleared enough for him to see her now, in all the glory she ought to have had the last time he saw her - but the woman he battled was a pale shade of this. she is younger, but not so young as she was when he knew her; there is more color in her cheeks, more vivacity in death than she had in life, and her eyes flash with the passion and defiance that had been lost to pain. she wears a familiar outfit, draped under a jedi cloak she seems to have donned as an afterthought. her arms are crossed. there are no lightsabers on her belt. he supposes she would not need them here.

it occurs to him, idly, that if he appears as he last did before he had need of his suit, before mustafar - then she now looks older than he does. odd.

the corner of her lips quirks up in a smirk he has not seen in years. "you took your time," she says.

there is not a trace of anger in her smile, in her speech, not a hint of well-deserved resentment, and he feels his legs crumple underneath him. ahsoka is there in time, dropping to her knees and catching him by his shoulders. her eyes are level with his, her back hunched - is she taller than him now?

"ahsoka," he chokes out. he can't look at her.

"hi, master," she replies, a small smile clear in her voice. he can feel her through the force more powerfully than he ever has been able to before, and he cannot find a single remnant of the tortured betrayal that had screamed over all else in her in their duel. there is some sadness, yes, some bitterness - but no anger, no wrath for him. where is the hate she should feel?

he swallows hard. "ahsoka, i -"

"i forgive you," she says, cuts him off. "anakin, look at me." he does, slowly, and there is nothing but kindness in her eyes. in his mind, they are still empty and dead. "i forgive you," she says again, and the wave of anger that washes over him is for no one and nothing but himself.

can she sense his emotions as strongly as he can hers? she offers no more words, but wraps her arms around his thin form instead, draws him in to her. at first he only trembles, unable to truly move, but she ducks her head into his shoulder and he clings to her. ahsoka - snips, little one, his friend, nearly his daughter. ahsoka, who had loved him like the family the order had denied her. ahsoka, dead by his hand, like padme before her and obi wan after; ahsoka, one in a series of his failures. ahsoka, who comes to him now with nothing but acceptance.

she holds him with all the tender strength in her body until he has finished crying.

at last, when he loosens his grip on her, she lets go, rises to stand. "come on," she says, holding out a hand to help him to his feet. "everyone's waiting for you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dont like ending things sad.


End file.
